


Bite the hand / that starves you

by Irrelevancy



Series: Christmas Dark Triad [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Universe, Communication, Evolutionary Biology, Families of Choice, Family Issues, Happy Sex, Healing Sex, It's Really Nice I Swear, Love Bites, M/M, Negotiations, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Size Difference, Teeth, Weird Biology, marco's good at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrelevancy/pseuds/Irrelevancy
Summary: In ten seconds, Marco the Phoenix would warily accept Whitebeard’s order to stand guard outside the door while the enemy captain and Mama spoke inside.Or; Marco is a friendly fuck, and Katakuri gets one evening of respite from his family issues.
Relationships: Charlotte Katakuri/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco
Series: Christmas Dark Triad [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573735
Comments: 26
Kudos: 103





	Bite the hand / that starves you

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It's All in the Prepwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22210774) by [wormhourdeluxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormhourdeluxe/pseuds/wormhourdeluxe). 



> Listen, I read this line from It's All in the Prepwork and promptly perished: _"Marco jerked in place, blue flames sprouting and dying over and over as his struggling forced Katakuri’s teeth through his skin over and over again."_
> 
> but ofc, where would i be without that marcofuckerz good content (shoutout to Oli & Mel) to get me even _thinking_ about these two, and now I can't stop.
> 
> Title's from [Courtney Love Prays To Oregon](https://clementinepoetry.us/). Content Warnings at end!!!!

In ten seconds, Marco the Phoenix would warily accept Whitebeard’s order to stand guard outside the door while the enemy captain and Mama spoke inside. The Whitebeard First, Second, and Third Division Commanders—brought to match the three Sweet Commanders—would move to stand in a line down the hallway with only slightest hesitations, mirroring Katakuri and his siblings.

Then they’d all wait around in silence, while their captains negotiated inside.

Fire Fist Ace would speak first.

Katakuri’s eyes flashed to him before he’s even taken the breath to speak, and Katakuri knew that the Phoenix noticed. That was fine; Katakuri’s powers weren’t ones that diminished with an opponent’s knowledge of them. Fire Fist had a friendly grin that was in no way matched by Cracker’s sharp smile, as he said something about how yummy their entire territory looked, and, hahah, did everybody like sweets around here?

Cracker would answer ( _of course, we’re artisans here, did you get a taste on your way in?_ ), and Fire Fist would continue the conversation still laughing, choosing to ignore the bloodlust constantly present in Cracker’s un-armored eyes and taking the words at face value. So, without his intervention being necessary (he _loved_ sweets, he would’ve said), Katakuri settled back against the wall once more.

(And, once more, the Phoenix tracked his motions. Whitebeard’s First Commander did not have the same skillset as Katakuri, and merely kept pace with real time. That hardly meant a thing though, when nearly all the world kept to regular time, and only Katakuri himself had to claw and scramble ahead with viciously upright desperation just to keep everything where they’re supposed to be.)

Voices would raise, and the door would open. T-minus six seconds.

Marco’s head turned toward the door before even Katakuri’s could, guided by some instinct Katakuri was not privy to. Katakuri stared.

Both sets of three commanders were stood at the ready when the doors burst open—but not to a war. It was Whitebeard, looking as monumentally displeased as he’s always looked when Katakuri’s seen him. That expression turned even more viscerally upset, when his attention honed down and in on his small human-sized sons.

Marco the Phoenix huffed out a laugh. In two seconds he would say, _I told you Pops, I’ll do it_. Katakuri would know what this was in reference to.

And Katakuri didn’t need observation haki to know that next, Mama would be laughing loudly and calling Whitebeard back in, along with his son, and also _her_ son. The strongest one who has never failed her (yet), never disappointed her (yet), has always done as she’s asked, for the family.

(Katakuri wasn’t special, in that regard. But he got the sense that Marco the Phoenix—with his big brother’s stride, his confidence meant to comfort, the way his shoulders didn’t need squaring because they were always already squared, ready to billow out into mythic wings whenever danger came—was.)

The door shut behind the two of them, Katakuri and Marco, and the negotiations would truly begin.

* * *

Not marriage. That was far too extreme a deal to propose to a man as powerful as Whitebeard, even for Mama.

 _But your son_ , Mama leered, and Katakuri could applaud Marco for keeping his cool under her covetous, willful attention. _I like his powers. I want to collect him._

 _You know you’re not taking any of my children, Charlotte_ , Whitebeard growled, setting a protective hand on Marco’s shoulder. Marco still wasn’t moving, shifting, or letting himself show any other sign of anxiety, pinned as he was between the two Yonko. _We’re here to negotiate, but if we find no common terms we’re taking those islands by force_.

There was no doubt in anybody’s mind that both Mama and Whitebeard meant what they said. That in turn meant, if they could find no mutual ground, some great and terrible tsunami would come; siblings would get hurt and die (Katakuri wasn’t naive enough to believe otherwise, against a crew like Whitebeard’s), and Katakuri would have failed again.

Unless—

Marco was watching Katakuri again. And Katakuri could _see_ —

 _Mama, I can collect him for you_.

Decisions and futurity blurred for a man like Katakuri, but it’s not like the difference mattered if one had control over both. Katakuri did. He carefully weighed all the pieces at play now, and turned a choice into the future.

(This future left him hot with impotent, directionless rage, and that was a heat that if brushed apart, Katakuri knew would reveal nothing but unpleasant, slimy panic underneath. So he didn’t brush it apart and, after a moment, swallowed the heat whole too. Put it away for his regularly scheduled, but tightly controlled indulgence in privacy. That anger had no place in Mama’s utopia.)

He made his proposal knowing that Marco the Phoenix’s shoulders would relax, and that Marco would even flash him a kind-of-grateful, kind-of-friendly grin. Katakuri would see that grin twice, first by haki, second by time. His lungs would feel an odd compression both times.

It always came down to family, for sons like them.

* * *

Katakuri didn’t know _who_ his father was, just _what_ his father was. That was all he needed to say, and once Whitebeard’s son was onboard with the proposal, Whitebeard himself ceded to Marco’s will.

(A parent who didn’t—but never mind that. That was hardly a productive path to tread, not when Katakuri’s already gone so far down another.)

The payment would be made in five installments, because what Katakuri could do didn’t last, so any time Mama anticipated a tea party where she could show off the immortal blue feathers in her collection, Marco would come to Katakuri. No eternal trapping, no flattening between book pages. One visit for each island that now flew the Whitebeard jolly roger.

Mama said, gleefully, _there’s_ _a tea party_ _in three days._

 _Will it last if you take me now?_ Those were the first words Marco’s ever directed at Katakuri in real time.

 _Three days will be fine_.

 _Then I’ll meet you guys back on the ship, Pops_.

The problem, Katakuri realized long before they’ve reached his bedroom and Marco the Phoenix has shut the door behind them, was that he’d have to remove his muffler. Maybe he ought to command Marco to turn off the lights—but that felt too humiliatingly virginal to even contemplate, so the words never came, and that futurity was never actualized.

Instead, here was Marco the Phoenix, a human-sized mostly-man, tiny in Katakuri’s large room with the large doors and the large bed no one ever used. Marco had a hand on either side of his already-open shirt, and Katakuri knew what he was going to offer before he even—

“Want me to take—”

“ _No_.”

But that was a foolish answer, no matter how Katakuri cut it. It came on instinct, and now that it was the present—then quickly the past—Katakuri could do nothing to shift it from existence. He felt his chest and neck heat, and _willed_ the incriminating flush of red down. It wouldn’t do to show that kind of vulnerability in front of an enemy.

His enemy, who looked… amused. But not cruelly so. There was nothing cruel about Marco the Phoenix standing alone in Katakuri’s room before him, nothing cruel about the curve to Marco’s lips.

“But you’ll bite through my clothes, yoi.”

If Katakuri were a less careful, less precise, less _perfect_ man, he’d have flinched at the mention of his teeth from a complete stranger. Or more accurately, he’d have thrown a fist so vicious that at least three granite walls and a hard-struck bargain would go down with Marco. But this was Katakuri as _brother_ , and a brother had to be perfect to protect all his precious siblings. The man before him understood that. The man before him had said, _sure yoi, you can chew on me for a bit to prevent a war between two Yonko. Why wouldn’_ _t I_ _agree_ _?_

“You know,” and Marco the Phoenix was cheerful now (and still removing his shirt despite Katakuri’s earlier protest). He was taking up the quota of bright grins that the Whitebeard pirates apparently had to fill or something, now that Fire Fist was no longer present, “I’ve always liked you.”

Katakuri steadied himself for battle, because clearly this was the line of an enemy trying to unsettle his guard. Marco tossed his shirt, vaguely folded, off to the side and held his hands up in a placating gesture.

_I don’t mean anything off by it yoi, just telling the truth._

Why bother?

“I don’t mean anything off by it yoi, just telling—”

“I don’t need to know,” Katakuri interrupted, unfolding his arms decisively. Marco was a distance away, but this was as good an opportunity as any to demonstrate his powers. Demonstrate that he and his siblings weren’t to be fucked with, that if Marco had any sly plans in store (but there was also nothing sly about Marco’s easy manners, making himself more at home in Katakuri’s room than Katakuri ever did—), he could well keep them buried.

Demonstrate that Mama always got her way.

The mochi fist closing around him caught Marco truly by surprise. Marco’s feet kicked on instinct but refrained from transforming. No bird, Katakuri surmised, appreciated gluey gooey substances binding its wings.

No bird appreciated being brought up to a monstrous jaw of fangs and selfish teeth either, he would guess. Better to get this—and the inevitable horrified disgust—over and done with as quick as possible. Upon the revelation of Katakuri’s mouth, Marco froze.

Then he blinked, and cocked his head.

“Oh, well maybe you can bite my leg then?”

Katakuri hadn’t seen that coming.

Marco blinked some more, looking very, _very_ amused at eye-level with Katakuri.

“I’d offer to take my pants off yoi, but somehow I don’t think you’d appreciate that very much.”

With renewed battle adrenaline, Katakuri cast _haki, haki, haki_ —but for some reason it wasn’t working, he just couldn’t _see_ what Marco had planned—

A small human hand shifted beneath his mochi, and Katakuri felt a burst of relief at the forthcoming attack (accompanied by a feeling that, once upon a time, he might’ve been able to recognize as disappointment, but has been so steadfastly eradicated from his conscious thought for so long that once more, Katakuri just swept the feeling away with knuckles, muscles, bones). When Katakuri let Marco’s hand free though, it wasn’t covered with haki, wasn’t poised for offense at all.

Instead, it rested on the back of Katakuri’s hand, in a gesture that was recognizably reassurance.

“Hey,” he said, “sorry, I’m just joking around yoi. Do what you need to do, okay? As long as you don’t hurt me too badly, it’s your decision.”

 _Your decision._ That thought didn’t even register on real time, but too late; if Marco’s words had been an attack Katakuri would’ve been speared on brutal talons by now. Still though, like the words had grown claws, they dug in. What an odd statement coming from Marco. _Your decision_. Of course it was Katakuri’s decision. Everything’s been Katakuri’s decision from the get-go—the proposal to collect, the walk to the bedroom, even Marco’s current position, held in front of Katakuri’s lethal teeth—it’s all been _decided upon_ , and only barely by Marco.

And yet—

“You said to bite your leg,” Katakuri snapped. Marco was watching his mouth just as he expected, but that wasn’t an expression of disgust—far from it. “Why?”

“Oh, I—” Here Marco went a bit pink, and his fingers swiped sheepishly at Katakuri’s thumb. “Mostly a joke, again. But I don’t know how this works for you yoi, I assumed jumping genes, but didn’t know if you’d prefer uniform muscle tissue or a variety of organ tissue—”

“The leg should be fine,” Katakuri interrupted again, because he didn’t know how to imagine his teeth buried in Marco’s guts for an extended amount of time (besides, Katakuri didn’t have a weak stomach, but he’s always been more of a sweets than a savory man, and why introduce the smell of perforated intestines to a situation that didn’t warrant it?). The leg _was_ a good suggestion, because Katakuri could far more easily see how they would lift one of Marco’s legs and get Katakuri’s teeth embedded in his thigh—but would they go from the front or the back or from the inside—

Oh—

_Your decision._

When Katakuri could see it, the future didn’t matter because it still had to be changed to clear, expectant paths. Now that Marco’s secession of control has rendered Katakuri’s foresight moot though, the future was—for once—entirely determinable by his hand. No Mama to think the best of, or to tell him just _hurry_ up so she could see her new pseudo-collected toy already. No siblings to impress and hide his deformity from. Just Katakuri, and the man in his grip staring at Katakuri’s teeth with not-disgust, not-cruelty, not-slyness—but rather, licking his own teeth with an expression most like—

Katakuri’s hand split into two, parting Marco’s legs with the sentiences of mochi. He wished Marco _had_ taken the pants off—but what were wishes but decisions not yet made?

The fabric parted in jagged scraps under his imprecise incisors, his unpracticed mouth. Blue flames surged, but Katakuri wasn’t worried, since that was the point.

(And Marco’s eyes had gone wide and dark, pupils sheening like haki and—)

(This was a fight but not to win. This was a fight between separate brothers to protect their families from the raging wild wills of the world and—)

( _Their_ decision was—)

 _This_ , Katakuri thought, as his teeth punctured thigh muscles, _isn’t for Mama._ Perhaps the collection was; perhaps Katakuri’s genes were still loyal to his parents and sure, perhaps the framework of this entire _event_ was for Mama. But not this: the bared skin of an inner thigh, the hand fisted in his hair for balance, the intimate warmth of Marco’s inked torso right against his cheekbone, the fluttering gasp that was breathed into the shell of Katakuri’s ear.

(And it was such, _such_ a difficult thought to complete, that _this is for— This is for m—_ )

Blue flames crackled hospitably right in Katakuri’s mouth, licking his gums. And if Katakuri curled his tongue, he could lick them right back—

“ _Ah_ —!” The groan faded into a sigh, and Marco’s free foot had turned into a talon taking purchase on Katakuri’s shoulder. Through every point of contact between their bodies, Katakuri could feel Marco’s tremors, like a young earthquake. “That feels, that feels good.”

(— _f_ _or Marco_.)

But the flames were fading, and it was such a wholly interesting texture in Katakuri’s mouth that he just wanted _more_. And hadn’t Marco said—?

( _—for me_.)

So Katakuri loosened his jaw, and bit down again. He had been careful to keep Marco’s lower leg away from the guillotine edges of his sharpest fangs, but felt his shorter teeth puncture calf muscles now. Felt Marco’s entire body jerk with it as the flames started back up again.

“So this is—” Marco’s voice sounded so _ruined_ already, like the people Katakuri’s had to interrogate over the years, but why did Marco never sound _unhappy_ , even between Katakuri’s unpleasant teeth? “—is this all that needs to happen? You just bite and the gene transfer just works on its own?”

After a moment to consider how to respond, Katakuri _nodded_. Marco’s grip tightened in Katakuri’s hair, and a far more desperate cry left his throat.

“Not to make this weird or anything,” Marco choked out, “but I—I really just might—”

The flames were dimming again, and Katakuri took the opportunity to remove his teeth entirely, to pull Marco away. Ignoring Marco’s noise of protest, Katakuri held his arm out far enough so that he could see all of Marco’s face, full and clear. This was so that he could move his thumb to the front of Marco’s groin and _push_.

Marco’s noises were no longer of protest, and Katakuri rolled the hard dick under his finger in consideration.

“How can this be a sacrifice,” he laughed darkly, “when you’re enjoying it this much?”

Marco, when his eyes shot sharp at Katakuri, had his glare buttressed by golden flames.

“Who said anything about a _sacrifice_ , yoi?”

Those glowing eyes with the haki-black pupils _raked_ down Katakuri’s entire body, and Katakuri felt the desire practically gouge his skin. This was a decidedly foreign sensation—when was the last time someone feared him less than they liked him? When was the last time someone had looked right at Katakuri’s bare face, and then _licked his_ _own_ _lips_?

(Maybe it didn’t have to always be about family after all.)

“Again,” Marco husked, hips and half-shredded pants grinding forward into Katakuri’s grip of him, “your call, but I’d _really_ like it if you got your teeth in me again.”

And how could Katakuri refuse that?

(He could. He just wouldn’t like to.)

“Where?”

Doors, Katakuri felt, were opening. Who was last to see the stitched-up scars at the corners of his lips slide up into a smirk? When was the last time Katakuri felt so playful, so _carefree_ , handling a person between his blood-aged gloves? What was it that compelled Katakuri now to slide a rough-padded finger through the shredded cloth of Marco’s pants and push in until they rested at a dry entrance?

How could he mirror Marco’s parted, panted mouth with such a lack of self-consciousness, as he pushed that finger deep inside?

“Here?”

His arm had shrunk back to normal length, and Katakuri brought Marco closer still—he wanted that throaty gasp back in his ear, that fire back in his mouth. With a precise little kick, Marco shed the last of his pants (his sandals had their straps severed and were flung off long ago) and _groaned_ , so beautifully loud, as he sat himself more firmly back on Katakuri’s finger inside him.

With that same hand, Katakuri spread Marco’s legs once more like he was holding open a book. All that skin (unwounded—as if Katakuri’s teeth were inconsequential, something nobody had to _pay_ for) was put on display, Katakuri let his tongue slip out, and _licked_.

Marco’s hand scrambled for purchase against his _fangs_ —

By the time Katakuri has tasted that split open center of Marco with the length of his entire tongue, Marco was shaking into orgasm. So Katakuri lapped, again, and again, and again, until all the wet just tasted like his own spit again and Marco was entirely lost to shivering. Helpless mewling noises kept tumbling out from Marco’s throat and Katakuri discovered a particularly _extractive_ combination of finger-crooking and tongue-twisting. He wondered where his protective instincts, usually so hyper-responsive to sounds like this, has gone—was it because Marco was not family? But Katakuri’s also never felt such a deep _thirst_ for sadism, that overwhelming need to keep a man writhing and crying, split open on one hand and making Katakuri wonder how he’d look, how he’d _taste_ split open on _teeth_ —

Katakuri’s jaw almost _snapped_ shut on Marco’s leg, fangs going deep enough to hit bone. Blood poured into Katakuri’s mouth, a particularly powerful spray from a severed artery and for a second, Katakuri feared the worst. _Destructible after all—_ _no. No way._

He cast his haki forward, forward, and _saw_ at the same moment he _felt_ , actually, the burst of crackling flames on his tongue and the sheer _relief_ —

Marco’s hands were scrambling for Katakuri’s face. Grabbing. Was he trying to fight? Figuring that letting Marco get a good hit in was more than fair (after he nearly took the man’s whole damn leg off), Katakuri eased off the tension in his jaw. Marco, sliding down toward the direction he was trying to go, still made a sound of displeasure, and before Katakuri could figure out what the fuck Marco was actually trying to do, there was the _oddest_ sensation of wet warmth on his—on his—

—on his mouth—

—on his upper _lip_ —

“Oh shit,” Marco sudden muttered, righting himself back on Katakuri’s hand (the finger, still here, was acknowledged with a little half-flutter of eyelashes). His face had come away wet with his own blood, and he glanced sheepishly up at Katakuri, one palm braced on Katakuri’s cheek. “Sorry, I should’ve asked. Is that okay?”

_Is that okay?_

If this evening has taught Katakuri anything, it was that casting observation haki on this man yielded very little useful information. He did it anyway, searching for an easy answer. _Is that okay? Is that okay?_

“You caught me by surprise too,” Marco was continuing with a grimace, “hence all the blood yoi. I don’t usually just… _spray_ , I swear. But I mean I’m good. How are you?”

He was painting a red palm print in his own blood on Katakuri’s cheek and the man was asking how _Katakuri_ was. Marco licked at his lips and unconsciously, Katakuri mirrored him, and Marco’s eyes went half-lidded again.

“No offense, but I’d really like to do that for you.”

Marco wanted to kiss him.

“Do you mind, yoi?”

How could Katakuri mind? (He could; wouldn’t like to.)

He brought Marco to his face once more, teeth slightly ajar. Marco’s mouth immediately descended back on the red, lapping up his own blood from Katakuri’s lip with fascinating rigor. The sensation _tingled_ , shooting like harmless streaks of lightning down through Katakuri’s whole body. If this were any of his other siblings here, Katakuri suddenly thought, they might call Marco a freak. An aberration. A monstrosity.

Whitebeard’s famously immortal son, who got hard for a fanged _creature_ three times his size, who got off on arterial spray and the impossible possibility of death. All with shameless delight.

A loud, low growl rumbled its way from Katakuri’s chest out through his throat. He wanted so badly to just be _in_ Marco once more, fucking through that sparking blue flame with his sensitive teeth but _oh_ , he still had the finger, didn’t he? The one that despite a lack of lubrication, Marco was settled quite comfortably on now, so to satisfy some of that overwhelming urge to _fill_ , Katakuri let his finger turn to mochi and _expand_ —

“ _Fuck—_ ”

Marco’s head tossed back with a shout, and his hand _scored_ itself down the edge of Katakuri’s sharpest, longest fangs. Katakuri tasted blood and fire, _saw_ blood and fire in Marco’s wild, euphoric eyes.

“God, your cock must be _huge_ ,” Marco snarled. “Aren’t you tired of holding me up like this? The bed’s right there yoi, just lie down on your back and let me, let me...”

He trailed off, because Katakuri had tossed his head back as well in helpless barks of laughter. Katakuri could feel Marco holding on while his whole perch shook (that finger, flexible and inflatable as it was, shaking along with). But there was no helping it. _Just lie down on your back_. All these words that just fell so easily from this strange, strange man’s abominable mouth. They were casual to Marco but so _bloody_ for Katakuri, things that stole beats from his heart and the air pressure from out his lungs. Marco wanted him to lie down, and who was he to refuse?

(Well, he was Katakuri. Yes, he was his mother and some other creature’s son, but he’s had his teeth in Marco and the deed was done. He was _just_ Katakuri now, and this was to be a compendium of his own decisions, dammit.)

(He wasn’t going to refuse.)

There was still no predicting Marco, but Katakuri’s learned enough about the man in the time they’ve been together to guess that he might pout about the unexplained laughter, but take it in good-natured stride. Katakuri could also guess that upon his sitting down on the bed, Marco’s gaze would darken, and Marco would lick his lips. He could guess that Marco would look so _pretty_ with his spine arched back, as Katakuri fucked his ass some more with a randomly expanding, randomly shape-changing finger.

(And Katakuri would be right on all accounts.)

It would (and Katakuri _knew_ this) take a long, perilous moment for Katakuri to actually sit himself _back_. He was still technically not lying down, because at the last moment he’d felt such an unhappy clenching in his gut that he settled half-up against the headboard instead. But Marco crawled up his chest and kissed him on the mouth again, said, _good, I’ll be able to see your face better like this_.

Katakuri didn’t need to ask, _for what_? His cock, kindly freed from his pants by Marco just moments ago, twitched against his stomach. The sheer size of him—Marco had swiped his hand over the cock head and came away with a veritable palmful of precome.

…Which he had promptly reached around and fingered into his own hole. There were things, Katakuri’s found, that were _better_ unforeseen.

“You’ve been such an accommodating host, considering the circumstances,” Marco purred, legs spread wide, so wide across Katakuri’s abs. He had a hand slightly behind him to the side, liberally massaging Katakuri’s cock up and down with the strength of his entire arm. “It’s only fair of me to return the favor yoi.”

Katakuri _saw_ the opportunity, and spread black haki over one of his long sharp fangs. He brought a palm up and sliced skin. Hand back down; gripped and _smeared_ his blood on Marco’s body.

Then with the blood that marked both his wound and his parentage, Katakuri summoned up those stowaway genes his teeth have extracted from Marco’s body; blue flames (a darker shade than Marco’s) billowed and blanketed his hand with Marco in it.

Marco stared with lips very parted, his mouth no doubt very dry. His cock, Katakuri was pleased to see, was hard again, curving up off of Katakuri’s belly. It was splashed in dripping red.

“Who said anything about a favor?” Katakuri rumbled. It was Marco’s turn at helpless laughs, but Marco recovered quicker with aplomb and a toothy grin of his own.

He stood up on the bed, bringing Katakuri’s cock up with him, making his intentions with it _very_ clear.

“Well start me on a fresh tab then yoi. I’m sure I’ll be back for more.”

* * *

“Ace,” Thatch groaned, _thudding_ his fruit knife dramatically into the cutting block as Marco stumbled into the galley later that night, “is so stupid.”

“Hey!” protested Ace, who was right there. “Smoothie said Marco was gonna get _chewed_ on, okay? I had good reason to be worried! Right Marco? Look how fucked up you are!”

Marco, collapsing bonelessly into the seat beside Ace, just hummed in placid agreement with his face mushed against the table. Thatch made another sound of abject disgust.

“Oh, he got fucked up alright. Tell us, Marco, did you get _chewed_?”

“Mhmm,” Marco grinned dopily into the graining of the wood.

“And were his teeth _big_?”

“So, _so_ big.” A pleasant shiver ran up Marco’s spine just thinking about it, and he still couldn’t feel his thighs.

“You see what’s going on now?!” The loud and vindictive slicing and dicing of innocent fruit resumed, and Marco let Thatch’s stream of angry muttering wash over him. “Had Ace and Jozu coming back all anxious and shit, but the moment, the _moment_ Pops mentioned the guy was tall and mean-looking and probably had big teeth I _knew_ , I fucking knew—”

“—oh.” That was Ace, in realization. “ _Oh_.”

“He’s _depraved_ ,” Thatch wailed. “A freak, an aberration, a _monstrosity—_ ”

“Hey,” Marco mumbled in protest, seconds before blissful sleep and toothy dreams claimed him. “I did it for the family.”

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Katakuri bites and gnaws on Marco's legs. Second time catches Marco by surprise and blood sprays into and on Katakuri's mouth. Marco licks his own blood off Katakuri. Katakuri also cuts his own palm and smears blood onto Marco ('cause equality).
> 
> CUT ENDING LINE FOR PACING: _(And Katakuri's always loved his regularly scheduled snacking.)_  
>  And you _know_ that ending was inspired by [Mel's KataMar comic](https://watermelon-chan.tumblr.com/post/188834216745/dream-big-thank-u-nblemons-for-the-smallest).
> 
> So listen, I learned about [bdelloid rotifers](http://myths-made-real.blogspot.com/2010/09/creature-feature-bdelloid-rotifers.html) with their horizontal gene transfer capabilities and their circle of teeth on the [Creature Feature podcast](https://podbay.fm/podcast/1409480698) and knew I had to make it happen with Katakuri okay. If you've read my other stuff you *know* evolutionary biology is my truest kink.
> 
> These two... wow holy crap. I really wasn't expecting to feel this kind of way about Katakuri and Big Mom, but seriously? Way too many emotions. Like, way too many. Therapist-many.
> 
> My [tumblr](https://touchmycoat.tumblr.com/). Leave a comment~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Help Me Doctor (I Have Sinned)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321390) by [hergan416](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hergan416/pseuds/hergan416)




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